


the cock of a rifle, a memory in the dark

by likecharity



Category: Weeds
Genre: Blow Jobs, Guilt, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mental Health Issues, Sharing a Room, Sibling Incest, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-17
Updated: 2010-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Silas says, "Y-yeah," because—well, fuck knows why, because apparently it's impossible to be a morally decent Botwin and because right now he's pretty sure he might die if somebody doesn't touch his dick.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	the cock of a rifle, a memory in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Shane is fifteen, and there's some sexual activity that takes place in close proximity to sleeping people. Set during 6x02, so spoilers up until then. Title from, uh, 'Erection' by The Faint. Yeah. I can't lie, this is a pretty weird story.

"You are so fucked up."

Shane just shrugs, and Silas shakes his head. He doesn't want to start another fight—in the past, he wouldn't have even worried about Shane overpowering him, but now his little brother's a _murderer_ and the look in his eyes when he threw himself at him earlier was more than a little unnerving. He doesn't want to risk it.

"What? Would you rather I was wallowing in guilt?" Shane says scornfully.

"Well—yeah," Silas stammers. "I mean, like a normal person."

Shane wrinkles his nose. "I _am_ a normal person."

Silas snorts. "A normal person who _killed somebody._ "

Shane rolls his eyes. "Oh, I just feel _so bad_ for the heroic act of protecting my family," he says, heavily sarcastic. "I don't know how I can live with myself."

Silas can't help it. His brother's apparent inability to see this for what it is _infuriates_ him, and he finds himself grabbing Shane by the shoulders and actually shaking him.

"Would you stop talking about yourself as a hero and realise you're a fucking murderer?" he snaps, but Shane just laughs, which makes the anger flare up inside Silas even more.

He shakes Shane a little too violently, and Shane lashes out, pushing him backwards onto the bed and clambering on top of him. They wrestle, and within seconds, Shane's got him pinned, straddling him at the hips and holding his shoulders down with surprising (and slightly scary) strength. Silas struggles, tries to heave Shane off him, but before he even has the chance, Shane's ducking down, coming right at him. Silas only just manages to jerk his head out of the way in time, and when he looks back up, Shane's face is mere inches away and looking vaguely irritated.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Silas demands.

"Well, I _was_ trying to do this," Shane says, and this time Silas doesn't get a chance to move, and Shane's lips are against his, pressing with a strange combination of tenderness and persistence. 

It only lasts about a couple of seconds, while Silas is too shocked to react, and then his hand's on Shane's chest and pushing him away with all his might. Wild-eyed and sweating, feeling his heart pounding worryingly fast, he stares up at his little brother, who appears just as calm as ever (if not more).

"What—what the fuck," is all Silas can manage this time.

Shane straightens up, settling back across Silas's hips. This position is making Silas increasingly uncomfortable, but Shane just looks at him questioningly as there's absolutely nothing out of the ordinary going on.

Silas gestures a little frantically at him. "Well?" he says. "What the fuck was that?"

"Uh, that was a kiss," Shane says, slowly, like he's talking to a preschooler. "I'm pretty sure you've experienced it before, I didn't realise you were gonna need an explanation."

"I fucking _do_ need an explanation," Silas exclaims. _Jesus._ As if jacking off to those old pictures of Mom wasn't enough, now Shane wants to make out with his brother?

He can't deal with Shane straddling him like this any longer so he pushes him back, which leads to another brief bout of unanticipated wrestling and somehow ends up with Silas pinning _Shane_ down on the bed, lying right on top of him. But Shane just quirks an eyebrow at him and says nothing.

"That," Silas hisses through his teeth, "that—kissing— _whatever_ —that's not okay, dude. I'm not okay with that."

"Okay," Shane replies. 

"Okay?" Silas repeats.

Shane looks at him like _he's_ the one being weird. "Okay..." he says again. A pause. "So can you get off me now? I might get mixed signals."

Silas does get off him (immediately, at that) and settles back on the bed again to watch whatever it is he was watching on TV before. He barely has a chance to work out what it actually _is_ before Shane's talking again.

"So does your rejection of me stem from the social stigma against incest, or is it just that I'm not your type?" he enquires.

Silas looks at him, momentarily speechless.

"Dude, we're _brothers_ ," he manages eventually. "Plus, I'm...you know, not gay?"

"Is that both, then?"

"What?" Silas is floundering. " _Mom_ ," he calls, "Shane's being weird!"

"That's because he's a psychopath now, get used to it," comes Nancy's voice from the bathroom.

"Oh, so it's normal for psychopaths to be into incest?" Silas ignores the sharp jab of Shane's elbow into his ribs.

" _What?_ " Nancy's head appears from around the corner this time. She's wearing another wig, this one an unnatural red and hanging in tight curls to her chin.

"He said—" Silas starts, but his mother violently shakes her head, red ringlets bouncing ridiculously.

"No, never mind, I don't want to know," she interrupts him, ducking back into the bathroom. "I _really_ don't want to know," they hear her mutter from inside.

"I wanna know," says Andy, coming out wearing some rather bizarre false facial hair. He pauses. "What do I wanna know?" he asks, apparently having been too wrapped up in his disguise makeover to hear them.

"Shane—" Silas starts, but for some reason finds himself unable to actually say it. "Sh—" he tries again, to no avail.

Andy strokes his beard pensively. "Wow, you can't even say it? That bad, huh?" A thought suddenly strikes him. "Oh god, he didn't kill anyone else while we weren't looking, did he?"

" _No,_ " Silas sighs. "He's just...being a freak."

"Oh, well what else is new," Andy says, losing interest, and disappears back into the bathroom.

Shane reaches over Silas for the remote, which makes Silas tense up rather excessively, and turns up the volume. He waits a moment or two, as though he's genuinely interested in hearing about the antique teapots the old lady on the TV is selling, and then he looks back at Silas and says,

"So. When's the last time you had sex?" 

Silas frowns at him. "What? I don't know." _Too long ago._ "Why?"

"Just asking. I know you can't go that long without it, that's all. And hey, if you ever need an extra hand to—"

"Woah, woah," Silas cuts him off, but Shane is already making a crude gesture anyway.

"I have a mouth, too," Shane goes on, popping out one of his cheeks with his tongue and bringing the gesture to his lips to make it even cruder. "A pretty good one, or so I've been told."

" _What?_ " Silas bursts out. "Who've you—"

He pauses, trying to get a hold of himself and the situation in general. He licks his dry lips without thinking, and inadvertantly makes Shane smirk. Silas lowers his voice, hisses, "Who've you been sucking off?"

Shane shrugs, settling back against the headboard casually. He's toying with the drawstring of his pants and it's making Silas nervous. "Oh, you know, just some guys." He flashes Silas a look. "Why, you jealous?"

"No! What is _wrong_ with you?"

"I don't know, apparently I'm a psychopath."

Silas frowns, chewing his lip in agitation. That answer doesn't really explain this, at least not enough for his liking. It doesn't explain why his little brother is relentlessly, unabashedly _hitting_ on him all of a sudden, or why he's acting like it's no big deal (just like he's acting like _murdering a woman_ is no big deal either, Silas reminds himself). It doesn't explain why he's apparently been sucking off random guys, and it sure as hell doesn't explain why Silas can't get that fucking image out of his mind—of Shane on his knees for some guy, a big hand raking through his hair as his head bobs back and forth, hot hard flesh stretching his lips—

Jesus _Christ._ Maybe he really _does_ need to get laid.

"This—this is not something I want to talk about," Silas says firmly.

"Okay," Shane shrugs. "I'm just saying. I know you can't go that long without jerking off, and it's gonna be a little cramped here, so..."

He gestures to the bed that they're gonna have to share tonight, and Silas's heart sinks. They really, _really_ need to find somewhere with more beds next time.

***

That night, Silas lies in that very same bed, completely and utterly wide awake. It's at least 2am, and he hasn't been able to get to sleep yet at all. _How_ , he's not sure—everyone else is knocked out, exhausted from the events of the past 24 hours, but it doesn't matter how tired Silas's body is if his mind can't calm down.

He closes his eyes, tries to clear his thoughts. Usually, when he can't sleep, jacking off helps him relax, but that doesn't seem like the best idea what with Shane right beside him and Andy and Nancy just a few feet away. Especially after what Shane said tonight.

Even so, the idea kind of nags at him. It's been a few days since he last got off, thanks to the family's latest burst of insanity, and, regrettably, it seems he's getting to the point of desperation. God, he doesn't want to think about it, he _doesn't_ , but just having Shane sitting on him like that—a warm body against him, settled right on his lap—it _did_ something to him. Made him want to fuck somebody.

And when his thoughts drift to sex, he finds them making their way right back to Shane again, the warmth of him and the smell of his sweat, and his _strength_ —the feeling of those muscles holding him down. His eyes dart to Shane instinctively, guilt washing over him. He's curled up on his side, facing Silas, his eyes closed, eyelashes making delicate little shadows across his cheeks. His lips are slightly parted, and an image flashes back, unbidden, into Silas's mind—Shane giving a _blowjob_ , those plump lips wrapped around a dick...

Silas groans, rolling over onto his side away from Shane as he feels himself starting to get hard. He tells himself it's just because he's thinking about sex—thinking about _anyone's_ lips wrapped around a dick right now would probably do it for him—but fuck, he doesn't need this. He _really_ does not fucking need this. Isn't it enough that his brother murdered someone? Isn't it enough that his family is on the run and planning to change their identities? Does incestuous lust _really_ have to be thrown into the mix?

He refuses to even acknowledge that he thought that. Shane's fucking with his head, that's all—kissing him and propositioning him like that, being even more of a freak like usual, has messed Silas up in a situation that's already taking a toll on his emotions anyway. 

Still, he can rationalize it all he likes, but it doesn't stop the little movie reel playing over and over in the back of his mind...Shane sucking some dude's dick into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue...

The fact that it's his _little brother_ he's thinking about apparently doesn't concern his own dick, as his erection's full and aching now between his legs, straining uncomfortably against the cotton of his pajamas. He's gonna have to jerk off, he's gonna _have_ to otherwise he'll be lying awake all fucking night nursing a hard-on that won't go down. 

He shuts his eyes tight, trying to block out the sound of Andy's snoring and pretend he's somewhere else—anywhere but here—as he snakes his hand down inside his pants and feels himself, cups himself in his hand and almost swears out loud at the relief the simple touch brings. He's so hard, his dick wet a little at the tip already and clinging hot and sticky to the skin of his palm. 

He brings his hand back up to spit into it, and then returns it between his legs, wrapping it around himself and stroking, shuddering a little. It's uncomfortable on his side like this, legs together, and he shifts, tries to reposition himself. He stretches a leg out too far behind him and his foot connects with something. It's not until there's a soft mumble of a sound that he realises he must've kicked Shane, and he freezes. Grimacing, he cranes his neck back, peering through the dark to see if anyone's awake. He hates to remind himself that he's doing this in the same room as _three other people_ (plus a _baby_ ), but he's too far gone to stop now and he may as well check that those other people are as oblivious as he hopes they are.

Andy's still snoring away, and beyond him, Silas can see his mother, splayed out on the bed with various limbs draped over Andy's body and sheets kicked down to her ankles. She's clearly fast asleep, out like a light. And then there's Shane, who—thank God—looks pretty much exactly as he did before. Silas breathes a quiet, shaky sigh of relief, and rolls onto his back again. As much as he'd like to pretend he's alone in the room, it's safer if he's at least somewhat aware of everybody's movements, and plus, this position is a lot more comfortable. 

He settles back, staring at the ceiling, and gingerly starts to move his hand again. Slow at first—relaxing, relishing the feeling, the friction against the slick and tender skin. He tightens his curled fingers, twists, speeds up. Before long he's almost forgotten about everything around him, his head thrown back and his hand bringing him ever closer to orgasm.

"Told you you couldn't go that long without it," comes Shane's voice suddenly, a whisper that breaks the silence and nearly has Silas jumping out of his skin.

" _Shit._ "

He fumbles to get his cock back inside his pants, forgetting momentarily that the sheets are covering him anyway, and accidentally snaps the elastic waistband on himself. He swears again, wincing.

"Hey, don't stop for my sake," Shane whispers, and Silas can practically _hear_ the fucking smirk in his words. "I was enjoying the show."

Silas groans. "You're so fucked up. You are _so_ fucked up."

"I know, I know, murder and incest, yada yada yada, I'm the antichrist," Shane mutters, and then actually pauses to yawn. When he speaks again, Silas is pretty sure he says, "Can I?"

"Can you _what?_ "

"You know. Give you a hand."

Silas braves a look at his brother, and is a little disarmed to see him looking so _normal_ , just lying there propped up on one arm and smiling sleepily. Silas can't find any words to respond with. His mind is repeating a mantra of _fuck no_ , but his body is telling an entirely different story.

"I've watched you before, you know," Shane says, almost conversationally. "You always made it so easy. You jerk off ridiculously often."

"You—what—"

Silas knows he should be mad, should feel violated and disgusted, but fuck—if there's _one_ thing that turns him on like nothing else, it's being watched. Maybe it's a little narcissistic, but just the thought of having somebody spying on him getting off, without him knowing it...he swears it's making him harder. How many times? What did he look like? Hand working himself, body flushed and sweaty and bare—and Shane might've seen him _come_ —

He's so caught up thinking about it that he doesn't notice Shane's hand slipping under the covers, and he jumps again when he feels it brush against his stomach.

"Hey, chill," Shane whispers. "It's just me."

Which is the _problem._

But Shane's long, cool fingers gently brushing the hot, taut skin of Silas's stomach feel kinda good, and even better when they're skimming the waistband of his pajamas.

"Can I?"

Silas says, "Y-yeah," because—well, fuck knows why, because apparently it's impossible to be a morally decent Botwin and because right now he's pretty sure he might die if somebody doesn't touch his dick.

And Shane does—hurriedly pulling Silas's pants down out of the way like he can't fucking _wait_ , and clumsily groping for his erection under the covers before grasping it in his fist and letting out an unsteady little breath at the feel of it. 

"You can tell me to stop if you really want to, by the way," Shane murmurs. "I might be okay with some pretty unusual things, but molestation isn't one of them."

And Silas knows he _should_ speak up at this point, should say that _yeah_ , actually, Shane should probably stop, they should probably go to sleep and pretend none of this ever happened, but—god, what he's doing feels really fucking good.

And besides, when's the last time Silas did what he _should_ do, anyway?

Shane's hand is confident, firm, and just tight enough as he slowly starts to jerk Silas off, palm sliding and pulling and twisting. Speeding up. Making Silas have to fight the urge to moan. He shudders suddenly as Shane's thumb strokes over the head of his dick, skimming the slit over and over until it's almost too much. He's starting to lose the feeling in his hands, and he's biting his lip so hard it hurts.

Shane chuckles low beside him. "I know you like that," he says, and then "hang on," as he lets go and shimmies down under the covers.

Oh, fuck.

Silas is not letting his little brother suck him off. He's not, he's not, he's not. This is not a thing that is happening.

Except, oh fuck, Shane's touching him again and Silas knows there's no way he's about to stop him. He's got his hand wrapped around his cock at the base, and Silas can feel warm breath ghosting over his aching flesh, teasing. It's taking every ounce of his self-control not to buck his hips right up into that mouth.

Then suddenly, he feels it—Shane's tongue, sliding over the tip of his cock. So hot and so wet, and so _teasing_ , as he licks down the shaft and back up before sweeping over the head once again. And shit, Silas's hips practically have a mind of their own by now, and he's jerking up before he can help himself, his cock parting Shane's lips and sliding smoothly inside his mouth. And Silas feels like it's been _years_ since he last had a blowjob.

He draws fistfuls of sheets into his hands and squeezes so tight that his knuckles go white, and focuses whatever last shreds of self-control he has on trying not to just fuck Shane's mouth. 

He feels Shane swallow around him, a gulp that draws him even deeper into the slick warmth, and then Shane's drawing his mouth back up, lips tight around him as they slide up his length and back down again, and again, deeper every time. Silas jerks when he feels two hands smooth along his hips, and it's only then that he realises his ass is barely touching the bed. Shane pushes him down, hardly gentle, and then holds him tight as he opens his throat and tries to take Silas all the way in.

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

There's a slight sound of gagging, and then a harsher one, and Silas forces himself to glance over to the other bed for any signs of stirring. But there are none, and then there's no more struggling either, as Shane takes him right down and Silas feels nothing but wonderful tight heat and Shane's nose pressed right against his pubic hair. Jesus _fuck._

For a blissful moment, lost in pleasure, he has absolutely no idea why he would ever have been resistant to this idea.

And then Shane's mouth slips away with a quiet _pop_ and his head appears from under the covers, linen framing his face. And Silas sees that face, and he remembers.

"Hang on," says Shane, and Silas sort of forgets again, because Shane's voice has this husky quality he's never heard before like his throat is a little raw, and his lips are shiny and slick and red. "I'm totally gonna do that again, don't worry, I just—I wanna watch you this time."

Silas's only response to this is to throw his head back, and inhale shakily, and stare up at the ceiling, trying to prepare himself.

One of Shane's hands tightens on his hip. "No," he hisses, "you watch, too."

Silas really isn't sure he's gonna be able to cope with that, but he obeys anyway, because he's pretty much willing to do anything right now if it'll get his dick sucked like that again. He rubs his eyes, finds himself grinning at the absurdity of it all, and stares down at Shane. Shane grins back almost wickedly, and then slithers back down Silas's body. This causes Silas's cock to rub all the way up against Shane's stomach and chest, and Silas has to try really, really hard not to come right then and there.

Shane strokes him over once again, twists the cupped palm of his hand over the head and grins up at Silas. He opens his mouth, and sucks Silas in again, and Silas watches, almost stunned, as inch by inch his cock disappears between Shane's lips. Shane stares up at him all the while, dark eyes welling up the deeper he goes. When his mouth is all the way full, Silas's breathing is starting to sound worryingly ragged, and while before he wasn't sure if he could look Shane in the eye, now he's not sure he can look _away_.

It seems to spur Shane on somehow (because he's fucked up, Silas reminds himself, he's _so_ fucked up), and all of a sudden he's really working Silas's cock with his mouth, taking him into his throat over and over even as it makes his eyes water, and tonguing the tip 'til Silas doesn't know if he can take any more. 

He can feel a knot unravelling faster and faster in the pit of his stomach, and he would feel guilty, he really would, he'd be beating himself up for this and then some, only—he's so _tired_ of emotions right now. He's had a stressful 24 hours—a stressful week, a stressful year, a stressful _life_ —and he can't deal with thinking about it anymore. He just wants a good blowjob and a good night's sleep, and to worry about it later. 

It suddenly occurs to him that solving his problems with sex and sleep _probably_ isn't the best way to do things, but fuck it, it's always worked for him before.

Just then, there's a tiny little noise, Shane whimpering against the slick head of Silas's dick, and Silas realises Shane's getting _himself_ off, too. One of the hands on Silas's hips has disappeared, and is between Shane's legs, and Silas can see it moving so fast it's practically a blur. He catches a glimpse of slick, shiny, flushed skin, and he barely has a chance to warn Shane before he's coming, choking out vague syllables and spilling into Shane's open mouth with a shudder that wracks his whole body. Shane's body jolts too, and Silas watches him gasp and pant. He's still coming—splashing Shane's cheek and chin now, but Shane's right there with him, and Silas feels it on his thigh and the sheets beneath him, the heat and wetness.

"Fuck. _Fuck._ " Silas bites the words out, his head spinning. His body feels like it weighs about a ton, and the weight of Shane on top of him isn't helping.

But Shane is dazed, still milking himself dry, and then using that same hand to wipe Silas's come from his face and _lick_ it. He makes a bit of a face, but then licks his palm clean anyway. Silas almost wants to look away, except for the fact that he really, really doesn't.

"Here, get off me," he mutters instead, voice rough, "'s too hot."

Shane sort of rolls off him, slumps back down beside him again. There's a horrible silence. 

Or, rather, the horrible sound of Andy's snoring, and nothing else.

"Great, so, I have to sleep in the wet spot?" Silas whispers, half genuinely pissed and half trying to make a joke. His heart's still racing at about a hundred miles per hour and the panic is starting to set in. Or _back_ in. Whatever.

Shane yawns. And shrugs. And then, after fumbling around a bit to get his pajamas back on, curls back up facing Silas and settles down against his pillow.

"I was lying, you know," he says, sleepily.

"What?"

"I've never done that before."

 _Well shit, you'd never guess,_ Silas thinks, dumbfounded, but he can't quite bring himself to say it. He's also thinking about how he really fucking shouldn't have been the first person Shane did that to, and how he shouldn't have let Shane do that _period_ , and about a hundred other 'shouldn'ts' that are probably going to keep him awake all night.

"I'm so fucked up," he hears himself say, then, a stunned and broken whisper as he lies there staring at the ceiling again, pants still tangled somewhere around his knees and his dick still going soft.

Shane snorts quietly. "Hey, welcome to the club," he murmurs. "Maybe we should make t-shirts."


End file.
